


Gin, Blood and Secrets

by yperittea



Category: Into The White (2012)
Genre: 1947, Alcohol, M/M, Post-Canon, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-01 12:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yperittea/pseuds/yperittea
Summary: Sad people in denial meet after seven years.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, I have some bitter stuff for you. More chapters are coming. The title is inspired by main motives in this work. Rated M because of the alcohol - there's way too more than a healthy amount of it. Enjoy and see you next time!

It was one of the very foggy days in London: I could barely see my tiptoes while I was walking down the street with a, however, very clear intention on my mind. I was heading to a bar where nobody cared about how much has anybody drank as long as they pay.

I knew exactly why I wanted to get drunk so badly that day, in comparison to the other days when I just needed a glass for no reason at all. This was, however, a special day. It was the April 27th and if somebody thought it wouldn't move me a bit they would be terribly wrong. It was a special day for me though not many knew; in fact, only I knew, I've never told anyone. It was not as if I didn't daily thought about what happened that day years ago, it was more of the much stronger memories which usually come back at anniversaries in general, whether they are good or not so good.

This anniversary was very strange. I was in no mood to celebrate it (I didn't have anything to celebrate nor anyone to celebrate with) but I couldn't just sit at home and work either. I was still rather shaken and deeply moved by the events I've experienced (and by series of miracles survived) as in the cabin and as in the war in general. This was the day when I really needed some alcohol to stay by me in that strange mood.

I didn't like the bar as much as I needed a drink. I was so desperate to get drunk I hadn't even eaten anything. I sat on a bar stool in the corner and ordered some gin. I was short of money and I wanted to get drunk quickly so I could go back home and stare into the ceiling.  
After the first glass I decided I hate gin. After first three glasses I promised myself I'm never going to drink gin again. After the first five glasses I've stopped couting the rounds I've taken and I just told the barmaid to keep pouring until I say stop. I didn't even think of ever saying stop. The barmaid poured nearly a whole bottle of gin in one glass that day. And normal people haven't even had lunch that day yet.

With my blood sustaining far to much of alcohol than it should have, I've felt even worse and more lonely and more punched by life than ever before. I just let my head rest on the counter top and quietly let tears flow into the cold and wet plastic as the barmaid kept pouring my glass full. The only times I lifted my head was to take another swig of gin. My head was spinning. I've got a feeling all liquid in the world was turning into gin. My blood was gin. My sweat was gin. My tears were gin. The fog outside was gin. If it snowed that day, I would be certain it was gin.

Well, it snowed a lot seven years ago...

At three o'clock in the afternoon the barmaid decided I really should go home. She let me know it through a strong man who flinged me off the stool and directed me to the door while shouting at me I'm a trash to get so drunk in the daylight and that I should be ashamed of myself. He was right. It was still light outside, so I didn't make a sound of protest as I fell on my face on the pavement in front of the bar.

I wasn't sure if I'll be able to walk home. After first several meters of walking this uncertainity proved itself right. I couldn't make it to the flat in third floor seven streets ahead. No way. However, I remained brave enough to stand and after my head stopped spinning just a little, my baby steps moved me a little nearer to my flat. My head and back ached horribly and I was so shamefully drunk I never thought I will ever be. I started to cry again because the pain was becoming unbearable. I was a real trash that day.  
A short man with big brown suitcase approached me shortly afrer. He seemed more worried than disgusted, but when he looked into my face he got horrified. His hazel eyes are the last thing I remember, I don't know what happened next. I suppose I fainted.


	2. Chapter 2

Familiar plain ceiling was the first thing I saw when I woke up. It was already late afternoon. I was feeling far better physically but my mood was still the same, if not worse. I noticed I didn't have a tie nor a jacket, my belt was loose, I was barefoot and covered in my own blanket. I realised I was in my flat. To be exact, in my bedroom, in my own bed. And the heater was on.

I wondered if all of what happened was just a bad dream but then a sharp sour aftertaste in the back of my throat reminded me of the opposite. _Well then,_ I thought, you got drunk when you should work, _you got kicked out of a bar and you...?_ I froze. I collapsed in the street, how the hell I now happen to be at home? And in such a neat state? Barefoot? In bed? No vomit anywhere? What the hell?

All that thinking exhausted me again and I fell asleep like a baby.

 

  
Maybe there was an only one hour between my first and second awakening. Maybe several years. I couldn't make it out and it didn't matter at all in the end.  
I didn't wake up myself that time however, somebody woke me up instead. Somebody determined to break my sleep was alternately shaking my shoulder and softly slapping my face while babbling something all the time. I hummed in disagreement and I tried to sleep on, cursing that whoever-it-was in my thoughts.

But then I finally understood what the person was saying.

„Wake up, captain! Come on, wake up! The last time I saw you drunk it wasn't that bad!“ babbled a familiar, husky voice with a foreign accent which still hadn't disappeared over the years and a sharp edge I knew could disappear whenvit wasn't needed.

_Oh my God. He is there._

That was my first thought.

One of the better ones.

The very next idea was that I'm dead and I finally met him again. But then again, everything felt so real... the pain in my cheeks from the slaps, the bad aftertaste of alcohol in my throat, the shiver in that not so strange voice...

So I decided I went finally crazy.

Why?

Well, hearing dead people and feeling their touch doesn't happen to normal people.

„Do something if you can hear me!“ he cried at me and shook my shoulders.

Of course I heard him, and already quite for a while, but I was paralysed. I suppose it was very cruel of me to let him wait like this, but I was just too astonished. The man I thought dead suddenly came alive? In my own flat?

„Captain Davenport...“ he laid his palm on my forehead and slid it down my cheek. I swear his hand was trembling. „Wake up! Why do you do this to me, God!'“

And he slapped me very angrily. I flinched.

„Davenport!!“

I collected all the courage left inside me and faced him. I suddenly wanted to recall his face desperately, to add concrete features to his voice before he fades again. And to stop him from the panic. And slapping me, by the way.

„Are you alright?!“ he cried in my face. I just nodded, I was quite alright, which was a miracle after all I had drunk. But I felt like the words had left me forever.

The wrinkles in his face had cut a little deeper, his skin was a little more freckled and the hollows under his cheekbones seemed darker. But except these little details there was him with all the attributes I've remembered. The crook in the bridge of his nose, his dark blonde hair, his broad forehead. And his eyes. The eyes that had kept me awake for so many nights. They seemed even warmer and more expressive than in my memories, even though he was quite angry at that moment.

He seemed to relax a little bit, but then he probably remembered why that situation existed and frowned again.

„Why did you get so drunk, Davenport?“ he interrogated me. His hands left my face as swiftly as they appeared there.

„Honestly?“

„Preferably.“

„I just wanted to have a drink and it... sort of... happened.“

He slapped me again, again quite forcefully. However, I didn't turn away this time. I deserved it, I lied.

„Be honest! I dragged you all the way there, I deserve to know!“

I never understood how his voice could differ from his facial expression. For example, this time his tone was sharp and commanding while his eyes were almost pleading me for answer. What a man, really.

„That is a long story,“ I tried to tell him off.

„Tell me,“ he demanded again. „I'm interested in it.“

It quite flattered me. But on the other hand, it meant I had to tell him the truth. I wasn't in a state nor mood to lie to him anymore.

„I just miss Norway.“

He just sighed again and fell silent for quite a long white. His gaze fell on his hands.

„Me too,“ he stated simply afterwards and left me dumbstruck. „But you should celebrate the anniversary differently,“ he added.

„Well, how does one celebrate anniversary of a planecrash?“ I opposed him, lucky to find some words.

„You shouldn't celebrate the day you nearly died with a suicide attempt,“ he proclaimed somehow reproachfully and looked sharply into my eyes.

„It was no-“

„It looked like one!“ he interrupted me angrily, his eyes huge again. „And by the way, I never thought you're an alcoholic.“

„I'm not,“ I tried to defend myself, but was already weak for it and I look away from him instead. He sighed and, shortly after, yawned. It brought me to wonder what's the time. He just sat at the corner of my bed in silence I didn't break.

„How did you even know where I live?" I realised and asked him some time later.

„I looked it up in your identification card," he replied. „I must have looked like a thief because it was in your wallet. And then I just asked people in the streets for directions." 

That was the moment when the real embarrassment hit me hard. So hard I didn't even thank him for such an altruistic deed.

„Nevermind,“ he stated after a long time of just sitting and sighing occasionally. „I must go now.“

„Where?“ I inquired, perhaps too quickly, and looked back at him. His gaze was fixed in his lap.

„I have to find a hotel. I arrived in London today.“ He was already getting up from the edge of my bed.

„You can stay here if you want to,“ I offered but he just shook it off.

„I just want to have a bath and sleep for the next twelve hours, I'm in no mood for conversation,“ he explained. „And you should rest as well. I can't bother you.“

„You can have a bath here and relax while I'm sleeping off the hangover,“ I tried it once again, trying not to sound desperate. „Do you even know how hard is it to get a nice hotel in London? What time is it anyway?“

He looked at his watch and frowned. „It's quarter to midnight.“

I just exclaimed: „There you go. All the hotels I know never check in new guests at this time.“

„Alright, I'm staying. Thanks for caring.“ He sounded defeated, however. Certainly because he didn't want to stay near such an alcoholic beast like me. „But I will go and check in a hotel right tomorrow.“

„As you want. But you're always welcomed here,“ I ensured him. He just gave me a very tired smile and nodded a little as his eyes wandered back to his lap.

„So may I have a bath here?“ he asked timidly after a minute.

„Bathroom's over there,“ I gestured on the right wall.

He thanked me again and left. It took just a minute to hear the water filling the bath. With every drop of water coming in the bath my mind grew more restless. My brain was preoccupied with supplying me with images only four walls of my bathroom could see.

Suddenly, the water stopped pouring and I heard him stepping into the bath. One leg, the other one, whole body, small hiss at the temperature change. The walls in my apartment were really thin so I could hear everything. And it was driving me crazy.

I heard the movement of the soap on his skin. A strange desire to become his soap took over me - to slip over his wet body, catch in his hair, always leaving a trace of nicely smelling foam, being freshing and cleansing for him, leaving him feeling clean before myself disappearing in the sewers.

Well, I never was completely immune to him. But this time that strange feelings seemed to spill from me like from an overflowing sink. They left me semi-hard and confused as never.

However, shortly after I realised one important fact - the one that I haven't seen him for seven years. Perhaps he had changed in such a long period of time. In fact, it would be strange if he hadn't. For God's sake, he must have spent more than five years in a prison camp. It would change anyone. Certain worries followed this realisation but quickly disappeared as he walked into my room.

He already had his pyjamas on and his collar was neat and buttoned up. However, his hair was wet and messy. I realised I've never seen him with so messy hair until then – his hair was always neatly combed and smooth as far as I could remember. And then there was his physique. He was still very short but I was absolutely certain he put off much weight.

„Thanks a lot for letting me stay here,“ he said while drying his hair with a towel. I nodded.

„I will leave as early as I can if you won't need me in the morning,“ he continued. „I won't be a burden.“

„You never are,“ I replied with a frown and need to hug him as tightly as I could. He just curled his lips in a tired and ironic smile.

„If you think so,“ he exclaimed and stopped drying his hair. It was even messier than before and made him look so cute it should have been illegal.

But oh, wait. It was illegal then.

In fact, it still is.

„Alright, where can I sleep?“ he asked. I didn't know the hard times were yet to begin. I was so desperate to persuade him into staing I forgot I don't have much comfortable sleeping space.

„There is a couch in the living room but if it's not comfortable to you, you can sleep there and I'll go to the couch,“ I answered, trying hard to act sober and failed.

„No, stay here, I won't trouble you,“ he said quickly. „The couch will be just fine.“

„If anything, just come and lie here if I'm already sleeping.“

I knew far too well the couch is a purgatory to sleep on.

He laughed it off, nodded and thanked me again before wishing me good night and leaving the room with a pillow and a blanket.

I felt very miserable since the moment. Everything was still a bit hazy to me and the hangover also started appearing. So I just decided sleeping was the wisest thing I could possibly do at the moment. I drifted off to sleep with a picture of Horst's face pressed into the back of my throbbing eyelids.


	3. Chapter 3

It was still dark outside when I woke up with a very bad aftertaste of alcohol in the back of my throat and lips dry as if I spent a week in a desert. I felt like something strange had happened yesterday but then I decided it was just another hazy dream of mine.

I had thought so until I could feel someone sleeping right next to me in my bed. With that someone being Horst Schopis my doubts about dreaming quickly disappeared.

I couldn't see much but from the dim street light I recognised the fact he's sleeping facing me. I could smell him too, the smell of the soap was still recognisable. He radiated warmth and looked very calm from what I could see, his features relaxed and eyes closed peacefully.

A car passed down the street and from the quickly disappearing lights I could notice something that made my heart clench. His hands were tangled in my blanket and brought to his lips. He was breathing the smell of my blanket (and I thanked God I had changed it two days ago). I wanted to do something to him more than ever before.

I turned on my side to face him and remained watching him in the dim streetlight. I was quite certain I wasn't going sleep any more that night. Not with him lying next to me like this. I couldn't get my eyes of him.

If he woke up, I'd look like a total creep, yes. But he was sleeping like a log. He just shifted once or twice and didn't make a sound but an occassional sigh.

My sore and dry mouth finally urged me to get up and drink some water. I untagled myself from my blanket as slowly and quietly as I could and walked to the kitchen as silently as a thief with pockets full of jewellery would. I poured myself some cold water and drank it in long thirsty gulps. I repeated this once more, went to the toilet, washed my hands profoundly and checked the time. It was only half past one.

I returned to the bedroom and climbed into the bed. He immediately shifted closer to me as I lied down. I only smiled to myself as I remained lying on my back and let his head nestle next to mine on my pillow. I couldn't remember I'd ever felt something more comfortable and soothing before. I fell asleep again surprisingly quickly, with his breath almost reaching on my neck and his hands nearly touching my shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

Thirsty and miserable, I woke up again very early in the morning while he was still asleep. We were in a questionable, yet enormously lovely position: he was lying on his side, his face buried in my shoulder, his hair ruffling against my skin, his hands softly clutching on my arm while I was lying on my back and simply enjoying his presence. I was so childishly happy I could have moved mountains. I didn't do so only because it would have woken him up.

 

It had been a long time since I had shared bed with anyone. However, I was absolutely certain I had never felt this way because of it. I tried to savour every last bit of that, it was probably never going to happen again. I realised I hadn't even asked him yet where is he going to live now.

 

The fact that he's probably going to leave me when he wakes up crushed me like a train. I tilted my head sideways towards his and breathed in the smell of his soap-smelling hair. I was quite certain he will jump out of the bed as if it were burning, apologise monotonically over and over while hastily packing his suitcase and leaving as soon as possible.

However, I hated this certainity. I longed for him to stay. I immensely wanted to talk to him about him about what changed in these past seven years. About his bitch of a wife. About his family. About his favourite records. Hell, about everything I didn't know, and as far as I could recall, I didn't know much about him. I remembered the things he had told me but he had never said enough.

 _And if he wakes up in one bed with nuzzling your shoulder, he's never going tell you anything more,_ I realised. We weren't meant to be, it wasn't supposed to be like this between us. I knew we never were what we were supposed to be for each other but this was beyond all discussions of ethics or law. _He would have surely disapproved of himself, were he awake,_ I thought.

But did I get out of the bed? Did I shift away from him?

Did I do anything at all?

Yes, correct. I didn't move the slightest bit.


	5. Chapter 5

It was half past twelve when I woke up the next time.

 

The bed next to me was empty, cold and neatly made.

 

So he's gone, I thought. It's over.

 

I sat up slowly and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. I got up hazily with an intention to go to the kitchen and make myself some coffee.

 

As I was getting up from the bed I realised he hadn't even written a note. I had no idea what I would have written there in his position. But I guess I would simply try to explain that swift departure.

 

When I got to the kitchen I understood. He was sitting there, fully clothed, his soft hair carefully combed. He jumped up from his chair as soon as he noticed me, seeming very nervous to me.

 

„Good morning, captain,“ he exclaimed instantly. His voice was kind of apologetic. He surprised me with the „captain“ but I didn't mention it.

 

„Hello, lieutenant,“ I replied instead. „How long are you awake?“

 

„Since half past eight, I think,“ he said, clearly uneasy. „But I wanted to say that I'm really so-“

 

„No, that's alright,“ I waved him off and switched the kettle on.

 

„But I-“

 

„No,“ I cut him off. „You were exhausted and the couch is not good for sleeping. By the way, I offered you sleeping in my bed so I can't see any problem.“ I didn't mention the rest.

 

He just nodded and stared at his tiptoes without another word.

 

„Would you like some coffee?“ I asked casually.

 

„Yes, please, that would be very nice of you.“

 

„Do you take milk or sugar? Or something else?“

 

„No, thanks.“

 

„You're welcome. None of offered is here anyway, I like my coffee simple too.“

 

He chuckled and burned his tongue on his drink. I sipped carefully and noticed his wedding ring was missing on his ring finger.

 

„May I ask you something?“ I started after a while.

 

„Of course you can.“

 

„Why don't you wear your wedding ring anymore?“

 

His movements froze for a while. Then he laid his cup on the table immensely carefully, his eyes never leaving a dark brown stain that his lips left on the porcelain.

 

„I sold it in the prison camp,“ he answered just in the moment when I wanted to reassure him that he doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to.

 

„Why?“

 

„There was a man in the camp who wanted to give something to his girlfriend when he comes back to her,“ he explained. „And I didn't like the ring anyway. It had reminded me too much of Marl...her.“ His expression turned sour. „I got some chocolate for it. I ate it with Josef.“

 

He stared at the stain a little longer and then asked me: „Do you still have your lighter?“

 

„No,“ I confessed. His eyes popped out as he looked at me.

 

„How?“

 

„A German officer stole it from me in the camp.“ This memory was very bitter to me. „He ordered me to give it to him and then he promised he will return it to me. And, well, he lied.“

 

Horst had never lied to me, not even in this, I realised while speaking.

 

„I'm sorry about that.“

 

„I should not have given him anything.“

 

„Well,“ responded Schopis with a sigh, „I guess if you refused, he would beat you until you're numb and then would steal it from you anyway. That happened to one man in Canada, he had a very nice watch and the warden was a swine.“

 

„I'm sorry about him.“

 

„He died from the beating in a week. It's not hard to imagine you in his place.“

 

He lowered his gaze into his cup again and started to mindlessly stir the liquid inside.

 

„I suppose you're right,“ I stated a moment later. „It's not worth it to die for such a little thing.“

 

Silence fell heavily between us. The only sounds breaking it were tin teaspoons clinking on the porcelain and occasional sighs.

 

„Well,“ he spoke as he finished his coffee in a single gulp, looking very determined. „I'm going to find a hotel to stay at and hopefully a job as well. Thank you for everything, captain.“

 

It was too much information thrown too cruelly at me. I caught myself blinking unbelievingly.

 

„You...“ I stammered, „are leaving? Now? Why? You can live here, I can sleep on the couch and-“

 

„No, captain,“ he cut me off with a little laugh as he stood up from the chair. „I won't be a burden. But thank you for your hospitality. I hope I'll be able to repay it to you one day.“

 

I was already repaying his, but I didn't remind him.

 

„Please, stay here at least until you find a job!“ I begged him. „You can't spend your money in a hotel if you don't have an income!“

 

He was already putting his shoes on.

 

„I can't bother you.“

 

„You're not bothering me!“ I almost cried out, not believing my own ears. „How could you even think that?!“

 

„Thank you for your hospitality, captain. But I really won't to be a burden anymore.“

 

„Well, I can't keep you here if you don't want to stay,“ I stated with the most casual voice I could produce.

 

„I have to make my way here,“ he explained as he carried his suitcase towards the door. I followed him there.

 

„Alright then.“ It was all that came from me. I tried to not look desperate while I was watching him putting on his coat.

 

„Fine,“ he muttered when he finished dressing up and stretched his right hand towards me. It was a bit too continental to me but I didn't say a word. Instead I clasped it and shook it as firmly as he did, his eyes never leaving mine. He smiled when our hands parted.

 

„If you need anything, you can come here,“ I offered him mindlessly as he quickly put on his gloves. Then he just smiled again, thanked again, opened the door and left me nothing but a goodbye and an echo of his swift steps disappearing down the stairway.

 

I remember feeling robbed, but I didn't know why. He promised he won't stay long. I should have been prepared for this far better than I was.

 

Which wouldn't take much effort, honestly.

 

I wasn't prepared at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Weeks went on and on. Spring came and May decorated all the parks and avenues of trees but the faint flowers on my wallpapers still remained just the same. I was at home, getting wasted, occassionally going out alone for some bread, coffee and cigarettes.

 

Nothing could lift my spirits. I even stopped drinking, because when drunk, I felt even worse than when sober. I even went to a brothel one day but none of the girls could make me feel better. I tried to call my brother, but he was somewhere in India so he couldn't come anyway. Nothing happened to me, all days became an alloy of boredom, strange emptiness and lethargy. I stopped shaving. I bought myself a pack of Canasta cards and played Passiens and built houses of them, always alone. However, after a few days I noticed the heart J lad looked very much like Schopis.

 

I burned all the cards after the realisation.

 

I felt strangely numb all that time. I didn't care my facial hair was making me look like a Jewish priest. I didn't mind when a key on my typewriter got stuck and couldn't be moved so I couldn't finish an important article. I didn't mind my favourite cup broke. I didn't mind it when I wanted to have a bath and the water stopped pouring because there was some trouble with the pipes – I just sat naked inside the dry bath for two hours and it didn't seem strange to me. I didn't mind anything. I wouldn't probably even mind if my mother appeared if she did.

 

Until one day.

 

It could have been late July or so. The weather was terribly hot and the city was drowning in its sweat. I remember deciding to shave myself finally, the heat on my face was becoming really unbearable. And as I was standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom with a razor on my cheek, someone knocked on my door. The knock was so angry and insisting I got startled and cut my cheek. I went to open the door all the same, with a handkerchief pressed on the bleeding cut, half of my face shaven, the other half covered with soap.

 

There was a strange woman with large green eyes and short dull brown hair. She seemed very surprised and embarrassed when she saw me.

 

„I'm sorry to disturb you, sir,“ she spoke with heavy German accent. „But I'm looking for Horst Schopis.“

 

His name cut through the air just like the razor through my cheek. I was trying to forget him so much. And now this.

 

„Excuse me, madam,“ I stated abruptly. „I don't-“

 

„I know that you know him,“ she interrupted me harshly. „I must find him.“

 

„And may I know why?“ I insisted, offended. The woman in front of me grew suspicious in my eyes. „Who are you, madam?“

 

She straightened herself and inhaled deeply. „My name is Marlene Schopis. Horst Schopis is my husband. I need to find him.“

 

That felt like a strike to my face. The blood in my cut was pulsing sharply. I learnt to hate that woman from a single sentence from Schopis in which she was mentioned.

 

„I know nothing about your husband,“ I hissed at her. „You should know far better than me where he is. Goodbye.“

 

And I tried to shut the door but she swiftly put her foot inside to prevent the door of closing.

 

„But I saw him here yesterday,“ she insisted. „He came into this house and I have already asked everyone in this building. Nobody knows him. You do. You must.“

 

„You are wrong,“ I opposed, not sure if more pannicked or annoyed. „And let me be. I have no time to mindlessly chat with you about people I don't know and don't care about.“

 

To my surprise, she did remove her foot. I shut the door and locked it in a haste. My handkerchief fell down on the floor and blood spillt again from my cut as I heard her steps down the stairway.

 

Later, as I was going on with the shaving, I was thinking some more about what she said to me. He came into this house and didn't visit me? And how did she know it? Was she spying on him? Or was she spying on me? She certainly wasn't my neighbour, I would have known. The people in my neighbourhood never changed very often. Everyone would notice someone new with such a heavy accent...

 

And as I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing, I cut myself again.


	7. Chapter 7

The distractions weren't done for that day yet. About a hour after that strange woman left, Horst Schopis himself appeared at my doorstep. I supposed to be suprised but the awe didn't come.

„I'm sorry about my... about the woman,“ he said as soon as I opened the door. He didn't even say hello. He seemed like his nerves were trashed.

„You mean your wife?“ I asked casually as he walked in and without asking went straight into the bathroom. I heard water pouring rapidly and when he came back, his face was red and wet.

„She's not my wife,“ he snapped. „Not anymore.“

„She said she is,“ I opposed him as we walked into the living room. He clenched his jaw. „She introduced herself as Ma-“

„No, captain, no! She-is-not-my-wife-anymore!!“ he roared at me in the middle of my sentence. He was defending himself so fiercely I wouldn't think he ever would. I'd never heard him shout so much before and I guess my face said it itself. He backed off immediately when he noticed it.

„I'm sorry, captain, I'm so sorry...“ he hid his face in his hands., „that woman will kill me one day. I'm sorry, I won't shout at you anymore.“

„That's alright,“ I assured him and squeezed his shoulder in a way that I hoped was reassuring. He jerked under my touch a bit but didn't shake it off.

„It's not,“ he snorted with a bitter laugh. „I've been trying to forget so hard and now... After all these years, she just appears... And it's all back!“

You tell me about forgetting.

„Perhaps you really should try to talk to her,“ I noted carefully, mirroring my situation in his. His glare stung in my bones. „She may explain. It doesn't have to be like you think it is.“

„Davenport, she betrayed me!!!“ he was shouting again, even more desperate now. „That bitch left me all alone in Germany! I wanted to start a family with her, we already had our time! And what did she do instead?! She was fucking my best friend behind my back for god knows how long!“

He gasped for air, his face dark red.  
„And when I needed her the most? When we were broke? When I begged her to stay with me? She said yes, that she will do anything she can! But as soon as she could, she fled with that son of a bitch! They both betrayed me and left me all alone, and you want me to let her explain?!“

„What a scam,“ I spat in shock, all my thoughts of assertivity disappearing into nowhere. He was breathing harshly and his eyes were like glass. „I didn't know that.“

„That's why I don't ever want to see her again,“ he barked at me, altough a little less intensely than before. „And I don't want to listen to her lies. I just want her to leave somewhere far where there's no chance of me appearing. She's already done it once, it shouldn't be much of a problem to her.“

„Yes, but come on now,“ I squeezed his shoulder once more, trying to cheer him up a little. „We'll have a drink together. And in the end, whenever and wherever she comes, you can always tell her to go fuck herself.“

„She doesn't have to fuck herself,“ he hissed. „Surely the bastard has already mastered it.“

Despite his anger and bitterness and all the other emotions burning inside him, he didn't turn down the offer for the drink, I noticed.

One hour later he was sitting next to me on my horrible couch, emptying one shot of gin after another and genuinely crying on my shoulder. When I stopped refilling his glass, he simply took the bottle from me and drank straight from it.

Between frequent pauses to drink, he told me everything about his messed up relationship with her. In an hour I knew how they met, half of her family, her cat, favourite meal, wine, singer, dresses, even sex positions. In another hour I knew every single hope she meant to him, the hope to have children towering high above all the others just as the nearly empty bottle towered on the coffee table.

He also got several quite strong nosebleeds that night. I brought him a cold wet towel every time it happened and held it against the back of his head, but the next bleeding always came back shortly after the previous one stopped. He really needed some rest, I thought.

By midnight he was just babbling nonsense and crying quite loudly, unashamed, not giving a damn about anything anymore. Quietly, I couldn't believe what was his psychique reduced to. All I could do was just listen, reassure him profoundly every two minutes and hugging him whenever he leaned on me, which happened quite often – I lost count after nine. He soaked my shirt in tears and blood from the nosebleeds. Not that I would mind; I'd sell my soul for him anytime. And the shirt was already bloody from my shaving accident which seemed to happen a week ago, not the very same day. Suddenly, I felt very tired and old.

„And if she comes back when I am here, I will kick her teeth in. I won't be able to control myself,“ was the last whole sentence I understood.

„We don't choose who we love,“ I muttered as he fell on me again.

„Oh, do we?“ he murmured into my shoulder. „I chose her, I trusted her and she-“

„I know, I know,“ I tried to reassure him for the thousand time that evening, already exhausted, and I tightened my grip around him a little. He leaned on me even more, overbalanced me and my back hit the couch. He seemed quite comfortable with his head lying on my chest.

He looked up at me after a while and was all flaming red, and I mean it literally. His skin was burning with alcohol, sorrow and anger. His lips were crimson from so much drinking. His eyes were bloodshot from the crying. Some traits of dried blood from the nosebleeds could be seen on his nose, cheeks and chin. Until this day, I don't think I've ever seen such a red person.

„I must go,“ he muttered after several minutes of staring into my eyes and tried to get up.

„You can stay here if you want,“ I offered and watched his unfruitful attempts to stand up. „You can have the bed, no problem.“

I didn't offer the couch, because sleeping on my couch is one of the most horrible experiences for anyone who's ever been so unlucky to do so, thus offering my bed to Schopis seemed like a great sacrifice to me. I really wanted to make him stay. He wouldn't get home alone on his feet even if he lived in my kitchen.

I realised I didn't know where he'd settled down after he had left in April...

„Thanks,“ he exhaled and fell on my chest again.

I wanted to say something, but in the end I just encircled my arms around him again. He snaked his arms around mine and clutched my shoulders like a railing on a steep stairway. His hands were flaming hot to me even through my shirt. I couldn't help but lie back and close my eyes, just for a few seconds.

„So let's go,“ I said some time later with pretending ferocity and somehow collected both of us from the couch. He swayed in front of me and gripped my arm. Slowly, I led him into the bedroom, turned on the light and assisted him in sitting on the bed.

„It's so hot here,“ he muttered as he started undoing his belt. I opened the window and a little bit of fresh air came into the room, but it wasn't enough. Upcoming storm was already hanging heavily in the thick hot air and not a single leaf moved outside. Not yet.

„You can have one of my old nightgowns,“ I offered and opened my chest of drawers to find one. When I turned around with a fresh nightgown in my hand, his belt was still resisting his clumsy drunk fingers. Without hesitation, I kneeled in front of him to unlace and remove his shoes. Meanwhile, he ripped his shirt.

„What the fuck is this!!“ he shouted, frustrated, as a button flew away from his shirt.

„Shhh, are you mad?!“ I shushed him quickly. „You'll wake the neighbours!“

„I don't fucking care ab-“

„Shut up, you fool,“ I whispered madly as I began unbuttoning his shirt as fast as I could. „I didn't open the window for everyone to hear how wasted you are.“

He tried once more to undo his belt as I tugged his shirt out of his trousers but even this time he wasn't lucky. So I grabbed the belt and removed it myself.

He fell with his back on the bed as I tugged down his trousers. Then I handed him the nightgown but he already seemed knocked out. I cursed and kneeled on the bed above him, removed his shirt and after a long, long time of desperate trying I finally pulled the nightgown over his head and got his arms into the sleeves and pulled it over the rest of his body. It was too big for him but that was the last thing in the world that could annoy me then. I felt as if I climbed Ben Navis with a backpack full of iron on my back.

I covered him in my blanket and wanted to leave him alone in the bedroom but he shouted again, though not so loudly as before.

„Where are you going?!“

„Sleeping, and shut up,“ I answered, really exhausted already.

„Sleep here!!“

„No, I'm-“

„PLEASE!!“

„Shut the fuck up, you idiot!!!“ I leapt back to the bed and covered his mouth with my palm roughly. „If you shout once more, you might spend the rest of the night on a police station.“

Of course I exaggerated. But again, I was drunk as well. Not wasted, although certainly affected. And it was two o'clock in the night.

But his hand gripped my arm resolutely and pulled me down to the bed. It confused me but I didn't resist. I was too tired, too fatigued to get up again, and his presence wasn't unpleasant even in this state (at least when he wasn't shouting). So I remained lying next to him, fully clothed, and felt like drowning. He kept holding my arm.

„Thank you for everything,“ he murmured after what felt like hours. It sounded like waves arriving on a rocky shore. „I'm sorry for the shouting. I don't usually shout.“

Something soft and dry might have touched my cheek very gently but I couldn't be sure.

„Anything for you,“ I muttered in response instead. „But if the neighbours complain, you know whose fault is it.“

He didn't answer. I felt his head moving on the pillow and resting a little closer to mine. The drowning feeling deepened and his next words swam hazily in my ears.

„You didn't shout... when I undressed you... the last time,“ he hummed almost inaudibly. „You were just... muttering all the time... that you... love someone very much.“

Suddenly quite conscious, I frowned. He just snorted next to my ear, amused. He must have sensed the change.

„I didn't catch the name. Too much trouble with the buttons.“

I felt the smile in his voice. The world turned black and hazy.

„Keep your secrets, captain,“ I thought I heard him say. „You can tell me someday if you want.“

I didn't answer.


End file.
